


let us pagans remain

by hurryup



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Light Dom/sub, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7919353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurryup/pseuds/hurryup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allen laughed, low; there was the flash of something across is face, all at once ancient and impossibly young. It was difficult to read, but it had been there, and it was captivating. It seemed to Link that there, right in front of him, was the greatest product of Western Civilisation's vast imagination; <i> Venus im Pelz, </i> only manifest now as a boy.</p><p>He glanced back at the book itself; at the draperied lady, glossy and mooncheeked on the front cover. Idly, he thought she paled in comparison to Allen. He wasn't exactly an ideal beauty, of course. After all, the baroque figures of those Roman deities typically went without jagged scars or monstrous arms. All the same, he was alive and present, and his eyes were fantastically bright. The sort that might bring those silly German authors to their knees; the eloquence of their suffering an inspiration.</p><p>More simply put; Link thought Allen was kind of beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let us pagans remain

**Author's Note:**

> __
> 
> "Stay among your northern fogs  
>  and Christian incense; let us pagans  
> remain under the debris, beneath the lava;  
> do not disinter us.” 
> 
> ― Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, Venus in Furs 

   
Although Link and Walker's quarters was hypothetically a shared space, Link could never once stop thinking of it as Walker's room-- not in all the weeks or months they'd known each other.  
  
The move to a new Headquarters hadn't changed that.  
  
It was Link's private policy not to invade the privacy of others. Of course, he was forced to make some exceptions due to the specifics of his arrangement with Allen Walker, but as a courtesy, he never touched any of Walker's things. It disturbed him to even think he had a right to. Determined to not intrude where it wasn't necessary, he kept his own sparing personal touches confined to one side of the room; most tucked in a slim trunk beneath his bed. Here, there were clothes, a set of serrated blades he kept bound in leather, tucked out sight; and a handful of books.  
  
In all honesty, Link never had the time or requisite passion to be a prolific reader. To Walker's personal delight, Link was more likely to spend his free time in the kitchen, baking compulsively because it was a mindless task that still managed to feel productive. All the same, he kept a few volumes on hand, neatly arranged in a box by the desk where he wrote up reports.  
  
Here could be found Fontane, Goethe and Sacher-Masoch, all in their original German print; carefully tucked against the Bible he'd been given at the beginning of his training, many years ago. Walker was prone to giving it the side-eye, not because the thought of Link subscribing to religious practices surprised him, but because he personally could not be bothered with it; in fact, he rather suspected Walker wished it would stay clear of his room. He'd shown a friendly interest in the rest of them, however.  
  
"You speak German?" Walker had asked, eyebrows high.  
  
"I'm afraid not," Link had answered honestly, head bowed.  
  
"Then what's with the books?"  
  
"I suppose you could say I've been meaning to learn," had been his reply, less honest, now, but not quite a lie. The truth, he thought, defied explanation; it went deeper.  
  
The black raindrops in the windows glittered like a sea of stars on their window, giving the room a fantastic lustre. Outside, the moths flung themselves at every night source, collided with brass lamps, got scorched, and fell away back into the velvety night. It was late, but that wasn't so unusual; Link had a hard time sleeping. Walker, on the other hand, was sound asleep in his bed, undisturbed by the flicker and glow of the lit candle. Every now and then, Link would pause at the sound of his snuffling breaths. He never thought of them as a disruption; if anything, they felt like a kind of reassurance.  
  
Sitting at his desk, he opened up one black-bound book and stared at the words, at the blocky shape of them, and imagined what it might be like to understand them; and moreover, to have been _taught_ them. He wondered often what they might taste like on his tongue. Would he trip over them? Or would it feel like a homecoming?  
  
Eventually, he capitulated, moving on to a Biblical text; which he read for a period of all of five minutes before growing frustrated. The Vatican had given him, among other things, a working knowledge of Latin scripture; but he'd never gotten much from them. Although the sense of duty he felt towards the Vatican was all too real, in Sunday mass, he had only listened out of sheer politeness, had only pretended to be deeply moved during even sacramental rites. The Eucharist, in the end, was only ever bread. He'd felt much more present in his devotion when he underwent training; learned how his violence could be a tool.  
  
(Could you still be called a holy man if you sinned in the name of God?)  
  
He was about ready to blow out the candle and give it up when he heard a restless sound from the other side of the room; specifically, from Walker's bed.

Walker appeared to have been startled awake. He was crouched upright in bed, blankets strewn around him. His hair was mussed at unusual angles; however, on him, it somehow managed to seem charming. In the flickering light of the candle, Link could see his eyes were fantastically wide. His left hand clutched at his shirt just above his heart.  
  
_A nightmare?_   Link wondered. The thought bode ill with him, but he remained silent. If that were the case, it wouldn't be his place to pry; although he was now fixture in Walker's life, he had no claim to the dark territory of Walker's mind. _None of my concern._  
  
Walker turned, seeming to register Link's gaze. Perhaps he hadn't expected Link to be awake at such an hour. All the same, he seemed haunted. Link's heart twisted unpleasantly.  
  
Well, none of his _professional_ concern.  
  
Slowly, the bewilderment drained from his expression, and he met Link's eyes steadily.

"Sorry," he said, although he hadn't done anything that could possibly warrant an apology. "I... I just had the craziest dream."

Link slid the books to the far end of the desk, where the light did not quite illuminate. "Is that so?"

"I dreamt of Mana." Walker frowned, carding a hand through his hair restlessly. Then, abruptly, he changed the topic. "You're... you're up pretty late, huh."  
  
"I was reading."  
  
Allen just blinked back, dazed; still evidently half-consumed with some dream crouching just behind his eyelids."At this hour?"

"I don't need much sleep, anyhow."  
  
"Lucky," Walker murmured. There was a brief silence, during which Link thought Walker might have fallen back asleep. Then his voice came rising again, this time, with grater clarity. "... Do you mind if I open the window?"  
  
Link shook his head, _no,_ and Walker stood slowly, making his way towards the window. He yanked it open, perhaps more forcefully than was truly necessary; Link felt the breath of a breeze slip through, rustling the pages. Link pivoted in his seat, watching Walker move through the indistinct, shiftless semi-darkness.  
Walker's expression, softened, as he lingered by the windowsill. He breathed in sharply, as if to shake the dreams from his lungs.  
  
"It really is colder here, huh," he murmured. Link rose from his chair, following Walker to the window.  
  
"You prefer the heat?" Link said. He wasn't much a conversationalist, but he felt distraction would be the surest method of keeping that sad expression off of Walker's face. He grimaced, now, which Link counted as a small improvement.  
  
A scoff. "You kidding? I had my fair share of that in India. Can sunburns be deadly? I definitely felt like I was dying." Link could see the tension ebbing out of him; he angled his head to face Link, their shoulders just barely nudging. "This, right here; this is just fine."  
  
"When matched against sun poising and dehydration, I'm sure anything seems _'just fine'_ by comparison," Link said, a little wryly.  
  
To Link's infinite pleasure, Allen actually let out a soft chuckle. "Hey, if you could go anywhere in the world, where you be?"  
  
"Well, I'm needed here," Link frowned.  
  
"That wasn't the question, two-spots."  
  
"Fine, fine. Well, I suppose I'd be wherever you are," Link said, after a beat. "Someone's got to keep you out of trouble."  
  
Walker blinked, and then smiled. The kind of smile that could set your heart on edge. A smile as sweet as it was damning.  
  
" _Someone_ can certainly try," he laughed, low; there was the flash of something across is face, all at once ancient and impossibly young. It was difficult to read, but it had been there, and it was captivating. It seemed to Link that there, right in front of him, was the greatest product of Western Civilisation's vast imagination; _Venus im Pelz,_ only manifest now as a boy.  
  
He glanced back at the book itself; at the draperied lady, glossy and mooncheeked on the front cover. Idly, he thought she paled in comparison to Allen. He wasn't exactly an ideal beauty, of course. After all, the baroque figures of those Roman deities typically went without jagged scars or monstrous arms. All the same, he was alive and present, and his eyes were fantastically bright. The sort that might bring those silly German authors to their knees; the eloquence of their suffering an inspiration.  
  
More simply put; Link thought Allen was kind of beautiful.  
  
Then Link felt perverse for having thought it at all.  
  
(Could you still call yourself a holy man if you sinned in the name of love?)  
  
"You know, Link," Allen said, turning now so that his whole body was angled in Link's direction. He became suddenly, violently aware of how close the two of them were. "You.. were in my dream, too."  
  
His mouth went dry. "Is... that so."  
  
"It wasn't a good dream," Allen continued, sotto, "but I was glad you were there."  
  
Following an impulse that was unexpectedly tender, Link leaned forwards, and with one hand, touched Allen's face. The skin of his cheek was smooth and cool. He traced the rough edge of that red scar, as he'd imagined doing so many times. The reality was as sweet as any daydream; Allen closed his eyes and nuzzled into Link's hand, exhaling gently, as if overtaken by some cool relief. He then moved to carefully, reverently tuck a strand of hair behind Allen's ear.  
  
Then, suddenly, he withdrew; knowing it wasn't right.  
  
Something like hurt flickered across Allen's face, just briefly. "What are you thinking?"  
  
_I'm thinking of you. I'm always thinking of you. More than I should, and more than you know,_ Link thought, half-bitter; the thought was quickly consumed by the insistent sensation of Allen's arms twining around his waist. It would be an almost clingy, childish gesture had Allen's lips not been so clear in their intent. He leaned forwards, the flat plane of his stomach pressed against Link's, biting down on his lower lip, managing to seem so spectacularly coy and flirtatious that Link was certain it was an act. The nervous blush spreading across his face gave him away. Even Allen wasn't without his tells, it seemed.  
  
All the same, it was a very good act. Link wanted nothing more than to lean in, drag Allen towards him with one swift yank, and kiss him, hard.  
Link had never been the sort of person to hand himself over to passion without reservation, however. People like him-- they weren't made to feel without abandon.  
  
_And yet._  
  
"I feel you have a rough idea of what might be going through my mind at present," Link answered instead, evasive. He paused, taking a short breath before continuing, "And you know there's... there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing I can act on."  
  
His voice was decidedly cool, maybe even clipped, though an undercurrent of gentleness slipped right through. Allen seemed to pick up on it, and his expression softened. For a moment, he angled his face away. Not ashamed, Link could tell, and not upset; rather, thoughtful.  
  
"You're right." Allen's hands, finally, dropped from where they'd been snarled around Link. Link nearly sighed aloud. An unpleasant sensation, somehow, to be removed from his touch. He wanted to chase it back. But that was a dangerous train of thought. "It's just not possible, is it?"  
  
"Right." And yet, Allen's hair, impossibly white, was growing long. Falling across his eyes; and a slash here, across his nose. Link's stomach clenched. He thought of putting his hands through it, or brushing it away.  
  
"I'm an Exorcist. You're from Central. What's more-- you're _watching_ me. You can't encourage that kind of bias."  
  
"There's an essential conflict of interest," Link agreed.  
  
"It wouldn't work."  
  
"Absolutely not."  
  
And then, all of a sudden, he was back in Allen's arms; except this time, Link was using both hands to cup Allen's head, and Allen was clinging desperately to Link's collar, and they were _kissing_. He was _kissing_ Allen Walker, and there was nothing in the world that could feel so natural; feeling Allen's lips open up beneath his.  
  
Link felt the tip of Allen's tongue brushing his own experimentally, and took the invitation to angle himself against his mouth and deepen that kiss. He licked into his mouth, slow. _Hungry._  
  
They fell back against Allen's bed in a tangle of limbs. Allen climbed into Link's lap and straightened his spine, bracing Link's hips between spread knees as he inched back in to deepen the kiss. It was clumsy, it was sloppy, and Link couldn't get enough of it. Drinking Allen in. He could feel the weight of Allen's body pressing down on him; their chests and hips aligned. He moved desperately to clutch at Allen's waist, Allen's hips-- desperate to feel all that could be felt, desperate to drown in the heady sensation of his touch.  
  
The kiss went on, and God, that kiss was life, desperate and cruel and beautiful. On a mad impulse, Link caught Allen's lip between his teeth, dragging them along there gently. From the back of his throat, Allen positively whimpered-- a sign, perhaps, that Link's roughness was not entirely unwelcome. Either way, the sound went straight to Link's dick, and Allen must have felt it, because he grinded down wantonly against hot, clothed brand of Link's cock. 

Link felt a heat creeping up his neck, rising all the way to his cheeks.  
  
" _Reprehensible_ ," Link gasped against Allen's mouth. " _Absolutely reprehensible_ \--"  
.  
Allen hummed in apparent agreement. His smile was nearly catlike. This next kiss was different; long and hot and dirty.  
  
Link's hips bucked up to meet Allen's, and they both choked a sigh at the sweet friction. He could feel Allen getting hard; could feel his pulse pounding against Link's. It was poison, it was sick, but there was no stopping it.  With fumbling, inexperienced hands, Allen worked to undress Link; fingers skirting beneath his shirt to slide up the slate of his stomach. Allen's left hand had a strange kind of touch-- well, just a little different than Link had anticipated. It was smooth, cool. Allen's nails scraped against Link's skin, just lightly, and he had to resisted the reflex to shiver.   
  
Could the world really be like this forever-- hours upon hours that never ran dry, feeling insane with this?  
  
Link ducked out of the kiss, keeping a breadth's distance between them so that he might catch his breath-- although Allen seemed eager to erase that distance, lips chasing Link back.  
  
"Wait, are you-- are you sure about this?" Link went to speak, but was quickly interrupted by the sensation of Allen's determined lips landing on the column of his neck. He made an involuntary noise; something awfully close to a gasp. He felt the hot breath of Allen's sigh against his skin, malcontent. "If you really want to--"  
  
"Please, Link. I don't-- I don't want to think," Allen cut him off, his tone all at once soft and strangely urgent. Perhaps it was the way he spoke directly against Link's skin. What he was hearing, was it-- sadness? Desperation? It was hard to say-- Link couldn't see Allen's face for the fall of his unkempt white hair. "Not now. Just let me feel this. With you."  
  
_With you._  
  
And Link started to think, for the first time, it might be nice not to think; the harder he thought, the more his own mounting guilt was thrown into sharp relief. "It's just impossible, isn't it?" And Allen understands that, nine times out of ten, Link will choose his duty; and he understands that, nine times out of ten, there's no room for Allen within them-- and no room for this, fumbling in the dark, drawn-out kisses--  
  
At the sensation of Allen's right hand tugging at his braid, he let go.  
  
_More than I should, and more than you know._  
  
Link was still fully dressed, but Allen was wearing only a nightshirt and pants. That was good. Easy to peel away. Allen's shirt was the first to go; disappearing far behind them as Link inspected the scars on his chest (first with his fingers, then with his mouth, finally with the edge of his teeth). With as much focus as he could muster, Allen put himself to work unbuttoning Link's pants, working them desperately away so he could palm Link's erection. Coat, socks, tie; they slipped to the floor and melted from their awareness. Allen scrambled away for only a moment, fumbling through a side drawer for a small, nondescript bottle of what looked to be lotion, or, just as likely, lubricant.

Link stared, trying to imagine why Allen would come to have something like that. He felt vaguely certain this was Allen's first time. Maybe he'd used it on himself.  _There_ was an image that would haunt him for sometime to come; Allen, shivering, opening himself up, gasping as he fingered himself slowly. Biting down against his pillow.  
  
Ditching the last of his clothes as he returned, Allen slid back against Link, now fully naked. He had a beautiful body; of course, Link had already known that. Sinewy and pale, save for the red of his arm and his scar. Of course, there was a few things Link hadn't known; how Allen looked when he was hard, how how his thighs looks slung atop Link, or how want and need could make his eyes cloud over. He pressed the slim bottle into Link's hand--  
  
_Oh._  
  
Link licked his lips. "You-- you're sure you want me to..."  
  
"To fuck me?" Allen supplied. Link frowned slightly, affronted; then he remembered that, in all fairness, _Cross_ had been Allen's mentor. But still.  
  
"The mouth on you," Link murmured, shaking his head in disapproval. _"Atrocious."_  
  
"Then shut me up."  
  
Link took the bait and made good on it.  
  
Between hard kisses, between the both of their bodies, he thumbed open the bottle, slicking his fingers. He slid one hand around the curve of Allen's ass, and Allen lifted his hips in response; the expression on his face caught somewhere between desire and nervousness.  
  
Link's eyes flitted to meet his, and Allen met that stare with a fractured evenness. Allen hesitated for a beat, then nodded.  
  
Link penetrated Allen with one slick finger, and Allen melted against him. He buried his head into Link's shoulders as he slid in and out, stretching the tight, hot clench of his body. All the while, Allen kept making these helpless noises at the back of his throat. Something like pain, or pleasure, or both.  
  
"Feels--" A second finger, perhaps a little quicker than Allen was properly prepared for, but Link had the vague idea Allen was enjoying the burn. He spread them, feeling Allen shuddered against him.  
  
"Just relax."  
  
"It's just, it's just-- _oh_!" Link's long fingers crooked unexpectedly towards Allen's belly, just barely grazing against his prostate, and he jumped like a livewire. He clenched up, bucking with a gasp. Feeling like it was the right thing to do, Link stroked Allen's hair, trying to guide him through the sensation.

"Is that good?"

Allen nodded, mute. Link pressed on, swallowing thickly.

"You want me inside you, now?"

Allen nodded, again; still lost in the haze.

He slid his fingers out of Allen, instead shifting to line up against him. He took only a moment to admire him, dimly illuminated in the low light, eyes wide with anticipation--

Then Allen lowered himself down onto Link, and it was like nothing he'd ever felt.

At first, Allen's motions were start-stop, trying to acclimatise himself to that half-sweet, half-painful stretch. He took Link's cockhead inside, then stopped short, mouthing a curse or prayer or whine against Link's shoulder before sinking back down to spread himself wider. His legs tightened around Link; shaking just perceptibly.

Link leaned back and raised his hips, fucking up into Allen slowly. He groaned at the sensation; too tight, too hot, too good. God. Always too good for him.

"Just feel-- so _full_ ," Allen gasped, and Link could hardly help but moan in response.

This damned Exorcist.

Being in love was such a fucking difficult state of affairs for Link. A profound, conscious and unconscious state of affairs. Because it had to be love, didn't it? The half-crazed thrum just beneath his skin, like caged lightning?

This damned thing. He pressed a kiss at the space behind Allen's ear. Without thinking, he took the lobe between his teeth; scoring pale skin with a bite. God, _claiming_ him.

 _You're mine._ The thought came to Link with a sudden, feverish intensity. _Allen Walker, you're mine, you're mine; I won't let anyone have you. Not Central, not the Fourteenth, mine, mine, mine--_

"T-touch me," Allen said mindlessly, breathless. He was totally boneless, draped against Link and positively keening with every upwards thrust of Link's cock. His own hips were snapping downwards, desperate to take as much inside as possible. "Please, Link! Oh, God, _please..."_  
  
Link blinked through the haze. "Like this?" He wrapped his hang around Allen's cock, pressed against his stomach. He thumbed over the slit. Allen's cock jerked, leaving a steady smear of precome behind. He moaned, but shook his head vaguely, unsatisfied.  
  
"No, Link, please, _touch me_ \--"  
  
"I can't do anything if..." Link swallowed hard as he spoke, punctuating his words with a sharp, merciless thrust upwards. His rhythm was quickening; they moved against each other hard and fast, sending a groan running through the wooden bedframe. He matched each thrust with a quick stroke. "I can't do anything if you don't tell me what you want."  
  
"Fuck, _hurt me_!" The words just came tumbling out of Allen's mouth, choking on the edge of a cry.

Link short-circuited.

Above him, Allen's eyes seemed half-glassed over, pink lips caught in a soft O-shape. Crying out. Begging. "Just-- hurt me, Link, please, please."  
  
_Hurt_ him? Link's breath caught. His eyes found the curve of Allen's ear; the dark indentations of his own teeth.  
  
_You're mine._  
  
Allen's eyes went bright with shock; was it possible he had said it aloud? "Link--"  
  
With his free hand, he slapped Allen across the face at full force.  
  
It was a brutal, open-palmed slap; so hard, he was sure the points of Allen's teeth would bruise against his cheek. Allen's breath hitched, stunned. His eyes went terribly, terribly wide. Link could see that slap replaying through Allen's head; the sick, hot burn of it. For a moment, he thought Allen was gonna be genuinely pissed off--  
  
Then Allen came, hot and messy, all over both Link's hand and his own stomach.  
  
He panted, breath caught in his throat. White hair mussed and stuck to the back of his neck. A red right handprint blooming across the side of his face.  
  
Suffice to say, Link quickly followed; closing his eyes in the bright wash of pleasure. He shuddered with his release. In that moment, there was no guilt, no pain, no duty; just Allen. The salty-sweet scent of him. The taste of him. Another language he still stumbled to speak. It was native to him, it was indigenous; something he couldn't believe he had forgotten.  
  
For a long moment afterwards, they simply fought to catch their breath. They were suspended outside of themselves, inside each other; hearts beating wildly out of time. Allen slumped against Link, his head against Link's shoulder. His eyes were half-mast, lips parted around shuddering breaths.  
  
For a long while, neither of them said anything. Neither wanted to acknowledge what had happened between them; half-afraid it had really happened, half-afraid it would end.  
  
Link was the first to break the silence.  
  
"I... hit you," he said aloud; his tone point blank. He touched Allen's cheek tentatively, although he didn't quite look him in the eye. He cleared his throat.

"It didn't hurt," Allen answered; tone unexpectedly soft. Link felt the movement of his lips ghosting against his shoulder, the gentle reverberations of his world. As sweet as they were damning. "You know I've taken worse."  
  
"Oh," Link said, feeling awkward, because what else could he do? Apologise?  
  
"I liked it," Allen continued, quieter, maybe picking up on his Link's thoughts.  
  
Well, Link could say nothing in response to that.  
  
There was that guilt again; it felt like a physical illness. Taking something that never could never should have been his. His hand fell away from Allen, and in response, Allen lifted his body off of Link; that margin of space suddenly seemed a vacuum that would never again be crossed.  
  
"You don't have to say anything," Allen said. He closed his eyes. Lashes impossibly light as they feathered against the high plains of his cheekbones. His hands wandered down to the bedspread, making useless fists against the fabric. "I know. Really."  
  
_I know this was a mistake,_ he meant to say.  
  
Link opened and closed his mouth several times before falling back to his best and most famous defence; doing exactly as he was told. The silence between them held something dark and precious and indescribably fragile. He leaned back, taking a deep breath in through his nose as he felt Walker angle himself away.  
  
Tomorrow would be uniforms, and uncomfortably close breakfasts, and all manners of cordiality; moments conveyed more profoundly in what went unsaid rather than what was. Already, he felt as if something indescribably lovely was fading from him; like losing an important memory, like forgetting a language. Deep in his bones, Link wanted to turn Allen over, open him up, examine the shape of each word all the more thoroughly. He wanted Allen committed to memory; he wanted Allen to be imprinted against his very skin like wet ink. He closed his eyes, bit it down; there was only so far you could go before you could never take it back.  
  
If Walker really knew, then perhaps he could forgive Link. Maybe he could come to see that his work was bigger than the both of them; that like Walker, Link belonged more to this war than he did to even himself--  
  
Walker let out a quiet breath; the signature of a sigh.  
  
_And yet._  
  
Link let his heart beat back in response, and prayed it would be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> i couldn't find any porn of these two on AO3, so i decided to fix it. you're welcome. 
> 
> \- i can't confirm the existence of condoms in the dgm universe, but i know for a fact they exist in the real world. so don't take this as an invitation not to wrap your willies
> 
> \- people keep tellin' me "link is totally subby, there's no way he could dom" and to that i say: get off my lawn and write your own porn
> 
> \- i tried my best and therefore nobody should judge me


End file.
